


Barricade

by IamBoringandBored



Category: Assassination Classroom
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23152726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamBoringandBored/pseuds/IamBoringandBored
Summary: Nagisa had held everything together for so long, he was bound to fall apart eventually.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 121





	Barricade

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning! Abuse and panic attacks.

Nagisa Shiota sat on the counter of his bathroom. He ran the sink next to him to cover the soft cries emitting from his throat. The thumping at the door made his heart race. He shook terribly. No matter how many times he’s had to deal with her moods, no matter how many times he’s reserved himself to staying silent, no matter how many times he’s shoved it down and pretended it wasn’t there, he couldn’t keep it all in. Somehow, his emotions always seemed to bubble to the surface, floating to the top like drops of oil in a pot of water.

“Nagisa! It’s one dress!” the woman outside the door cried, banging her fist on the door, “Just wear one! You’ll look so pretty!” Her voice wound through cycles, spinning from softer tones, a pleading, almost kind voice that resonated within his chest, tempting him to open the door, and flipping to an terrifying anger, making the tears swelling in his eyes increase. “You’re a fucking waste of space! Just wear the damn dress!”

Nagisa didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The words were caged in his throat, barred behind his fear of his mother. He didn’t want to make her more mad. She was already being angry enough as it was.

Eventually an alarm rang. He listened to the pitter-patter of her feet as she went to turn it off. He listened carefully past the running water, his breathing beginning to steady. He could never be too careful. She could come back. He recalled once instance in which he prematurely judged whether she’d left and came face to face with her while exiting his room. What followed was normal; more screaming, more reminding him how much of a burden he is, more telling him that the only correct way to go in life is to fulfill everything she had been unable to accomplish. This time, however, was much worse than the last times. He’d always been aware of how much her screaming hurt, how much the yelling terrified him out of his mind, but he’d never thought she’d actually put her hands on him. This time, in particular, had proved him wrong. He had the audacity to speak up a little, to meekly try and ask her to stop yelling, to sort it out calmly, but it all ended with her hand making contact with his cheek,

All he could do was listen to her and feel it tear him apart inside. But he could never let it show. He was the one who made the decision to stay with his mother. He didn’t want his father to worry, nor his classmates to feel any sort of concern for his situation at home. He felt fine, in all actuality. That’s what he continued convincing himself, anyways. He knew that he could leave at any given moment. If it got too bad, he had places to escape to. 

Footsteps outside the bathroom caused the boy to jump. His trembling returned, taking over all control of his body. He curled into a ball and covered the top of his head with his hands. He buried himself far deep into his knees and shut his eyes as tightly as he could. His fingers wrapped around the long strands of blue hanging from his head.

“Nagisa, girlie,” his mother said, “I have to head off to work. We can try on that dress when I get home, okay?”

Finally, she left. 

He sat in silence, trying to pick up the pieces again. The walls he barricaded himself with required assembly. Every time his mother had a mood swing and decided to “talk” with Nagisa, she swung a sledgehammer through each gingerly placed brick. Every time, he had to take a second and regather every stone, every pebble, every grain in order to feel stable again. The only thing that held up these walls was the obvious glue that was his determination to appear alright. Beams fabricated out of sheer horror seemed to take away a bit of the tension. He didn’t want to appear burdensome, so he didn’t.

He turned the faucet off. Nagisa avoided looking in the mirror. Instead, he turned around and quietly unlocked the bathroom door, leaving and escaping to his room. He buried himself into his futon and hid himself in the dark.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

His phone called. Nagisa didn’t have the energy to answer, but an aching feeling alerted him and forced him to shoot out his arm, frantically grasping onto the device. He answered.

“Hey, Nagisa,” the condescending voice oozed. Nagisa prepared himself. The taunts and jokes that were to come could vary, but he didn’t know how much he could take it today. Still, he didn’t speak up. “You want to hang out? We’re all going shopping and the girls want another girl to help dress up. You’re close enough!”

It was then, Nagisa realized, that he had misplaced a morsel when reconstructing his barriers. He shattered. Desperately he tried to grasp at the pieces as they fell, but the slipped through his fingers. Sobs began to wrack his body as phrases and words began floating through his head. The letters bounced off the sides of his skull, imprisoned, as the mental and emotional chains that held those thoughts there, drilled into his cranium since he was small, were pulled tight as strained. They never snapped or gave in, however. The remained unbreakable, having been reinforced for years without a single scratch done to revolt against this thought process he’d always known.

Nagisa hung up.

He clung to the covers of his futon with desperation. He craved comfort, for someone to tell him it was okay, to be allowed to have his walls down for a while. The only thing he could hear, however, was the sounds of his own whimpers echoing off the corners of his room. The bed let him have his walls down, so he let them crumble again. He let himself relish in pain and wallow in sorrow, tears of relief that had been bottled up for much too long let themselves fall onto his pillow and seep through the threads, sinking into the cotton and the stuffing. He let himself let out agonized groans and bawling. His entire body relaxed and seized up as he let out choked exhales and breathed in heavy inhales. He pulled his knees towards his torso and let himself be small for a while.

He’d deal with it all in time, but for just a bit, he let everything go.


End file.
